


happy birthday motherfucker

by enbyofdionysus



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 02:32:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17034829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbyofdionysus/pseuds/enbyofdionysus
Summary: Proko stared at it and then blinked up at Kavinsky. “What the fuck is that?”“What the fuck does it look like?” K spat.Proko came closer to the car where the cupcake sat on the hood. It was decorated in light green frosting with two eyes made of fondant sticking out from the sides so it resembled a frog. “What’s it for?” he asked.K made a scoffing sound as if he couldn’t fucking believe him. “Your birthday, shithead.”





	happy birthday motherfucker

Kavinsky was not a romantic person.

That was something Prokopenko had established from the get-go. When he had been in Kavinsky’s head for that brief moment in time, standing amongst the dark trees, K hadn’t called him away from the way fairies did in children’s tails. He didn’t hold out his hand and call him a marvelous creature. He didn’t speak softly and beckon him forward. 

Kavinsky was a thief.

He had come to the dream forest for something that Prokopenko knew now in retrospect were pills. K dreamt them, grabbed them from the ground, and went to leave. When he noticed Prokopenko, he didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at him with eyes so fierce they could tear the world down the middle.

“Well?” K had asked him, sneered at him. “You coming or not, you weird fuck?”

 **

Kavinsky was not a romantic person.

That was something Prokopenko had re-established during Skov’s birthday party.

Their pack was a wild one, filled with boys so rowdy and privileged they could burn down the whole of Henrietta and nothing would come of it. They celebrated Skov’s birthday by getting trashed and trying to jump a stream, laughing uproariously when Jiang nearly brained himself on a rock.

In his own drunken haze, Prokopenko had thought his brain was fucking with him. But then he realized that no, there really were tiny lights flickering through the grass and in the trees.

“Fireflies,” he said.

No one heard him. Skov had fallen into the water and was swearing so loud it could have frightened a bear away. Proko raised the rest of his beer to his mouth and downed it. When he turned, he noticed a firefly hanging in front of K’s face. Kavinsky was in the middle of shot-gunning the rest of his own drink, too busy to notice the bug.

Proko’s chest warmed and he was sure that it wasn’t the alcohol.

K’s face, in the natural light of the firefly, looked hauntingly beautiful with edges so distinctly masculine it made Proko chub in his jeans. When K finally noticed the bug, eyes fixating, it was like Lucifer looking into the pit of Chaos. Time had, for the moment, failed to exist. Proko held his breath.

And then groaned as K crushed the bug in his fist.

Kavinsky heard him and spat into the grass before asking, roughly, “ _What?_ ”

“Nothing,” Proko said. He felt K’s eyes on him but kept his own on the ground.

 **

Kavinsky was not a romantic person.

That was something Prokopenko had established on a myriad of occasions.

Which was why he was so confused when, on a chilly autumn night, Kavinsky took a turn along a path Proko had never been on before. He frowned out the passenger side window, staring up into the dark lines of the trees around them.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” K said, but with little heat.

Proko only frowned more. The mitsu continued along the path for several minutes before it rolled onto a rocky slope with no rail to keep the car from sailing over the edge of the cliff.

K stopped the car and got out without a word and Proko hesitantly followed. He came out in front of the car, pebbles and dirt scuffing under his sneakers, looking out over a see of black trees. Henrietta sat far below, glittering in the night like some far away galaxy.

Prokopenko huddled himself further into his sweatshirt. “The fuck are we here for?” he asked.

Instead of an answer, Proko heard the metal click-scratch of a zippo being lit.

He turned, expecting to see a firework being lit or, for a change of pace, a stick of dynamite. 

What he wasn’t expecting was a candle. 

Specifically, a birthday candle sitting directly in the center of a store bought a cupcake.

Proko stared at it and then blinked up at Kavinsky. “What the fuck is that?”

“What the fuck does it look like?” K spat.

Proko came closer to the car where the cupcake sat on the hood. It was decorated in light green frosting with two eyes made of fondant sticking out from the sides so it resembled a frog. “What’s it for?” he asked.

K made a scoffing sound as if he couldn’t fucking believe him. “Your birthday, shithead.”

Surprise hit Proko like a ton of bricks. 

His eyes snapped from the cupcake to Kavinsky’s face as if K were about to slam his face into it, as if someone were about to jump out from the trees and scare the shit out of him. This had to be a joke, a prank. No way would Kavinsky remember. No way would Kavinsky  _care_. He was a boy made of ash and gasoline, a boy made of fire and sharp edges. A living dagger Proko willingly fell on again and again and again.

“I wasn’t born,” said Prokopenko. He stated it not to be rude, but as a fact.

“Fine,” K snapped, “your  _conception_ day, then. You gonna make a wish and blow out the goddamn candle or what? Jesus.”

Proko bristled but bent down to the cupcake anyway. It was all too surreal. It didn’t make sense. Prokopenko had never even done this before, had only seen Jiang do it once with a candle and brownies mixed with indigo.

He thought about something that he wanted, something more than anything in the world.

He glanced up at Kavinsky’s face, a mask in the dark of the night, and felt his heart stammer.

Prokopenko blew out the candle.

He picked a fondant eye from the cupcake and popped it into his mouth. “You remembered?”

Kavinsky said nothing, just leaned against the hood of the car as Prokopenko took his time eating the cake. Then, as Proko wiped green frosting from his upper lip, K finally said, “I never forgot.”


End file.
